Bottled Up

Prying eyes surround me, trying to read the few sprawled words written down on the other side of last week’s chemistry notes. They wouldn’t understand anyway. They’ll give up eventually. First drafts are precious, uncertain, and private. Writing exposes. Everything is easier to say on paper, and it doesn’t have to be solid or final. It can be taken it back with a strikethrough or an eraser or whiteout, if you’re fancy. If you let just anybody see your ideas, you might as well let everyone know. And what’s the fun it that? The first draft releases all emotion. Nothing should ever be held back; it should be raw feelings. Letting someone see could give them the wrong idea about you. Or worse, they might prejudge your writing abilities. This is why I won’t write at school. Your ideas and inspiration should be kept secret; a few words at most on a piece of paper. Or the inside of your palm, as long as a) it’s close to the end of the day or b) you don’t sweat much. The opinions of others may not matter, but what’s mine is mine and they will never figure me out.

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